


shuffle

by jeannedarc



Category: VIXX
Genre: Horror, M/M, lapslock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 23:34:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17313920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeannedarc/pseuds/jeannedarc
Summary: wonsik can't close his eyes without seeing the hallway, dim in the moonlight, bloodied, ruined.





	shuffle

**Author's Note:**

> so uh, hi, welcome back, it's me, i'm back on my bullshit  
> if any of you have been reading my work for awhile now you know that this...is kind of what i do  
> pls enjoy, thank u for coming, it's been awhile

the noise comes first in the middle of the night.

wonsik wakes from a dream of a young boy, perched at his bedside, broad wings like those of a bat sprouting from his back, watching him, always watching. there is no one there where the boy had been in his dream; he steadies himself by the sound of jaehwan's breathing, steady and warm beside him.

he settles back in, arms wrapped around jaehwan's middle, holding him close, taking comfort even while jaehwan sleeps.

wonsik is just about to drift off when he hears it, so loud and vivid and real that he nearly jumps out of his skin: the dragging of something heavy, but slick. instead he flops out of bed, crashing into the floor. the noise stops, seemingly interrupted by wonsik's movement.

he clambers to the bedroom door, flings it open, gasping for air, cursing his vices and clutching at his throat.

nothing is there. nothing tangible anyway. when he closes his eyes, distress washing over him in a piteous wave, he sees his hallway as it was before, but it is streaked with blood, littered with dismembered parts of what must be more than one body, judging by sheer number alone.

he screams. he wakes jaehwan from a dead sleep, has to be dragged back to bed, arms around him, restraining his heart as it threatens to burst forth from his chest. jaehwan shushes him so gently, kisses the soft spot just beneath his ear, the curve of his shoulder, pulls him back in.

wonsik doesn't sleep the rest of the night. clinging to jaehwan means that jaehwan doesn't either. they're both agitated when they have to rise and work the next morning, but when wonsik apologises, jaehwan forgives him immediately.

he can't close his eyes without seeing the hallway, dim in the moonlight, bloodied, ruined.

\---

jaehwan goes to work during the day, leaving wonsik with a briefcase, a kiss on the cheek. "i love you," says jaehwan.

"be safe," answers wonsik, usually distracted by reading, or writing, or his computer. he does, however, be sure to watch jaehwan walk away.

this means he's left home alone more often than not, but he doesn't while away his time by doing nothing, waiting for jaehwan to get home like some pathetic housewife who lives and breathes by their husband. he works, composing scores for horror films -- not even the ones that make theatres, mainly for his rich heir friends who fancy themselves filmmakers who are willing to pay for quality work -- and that takes up a lot of his time. the remainder of his day is spent reading, listening to new music, watching his friends' films. they're mostly garbage. he's proud of his work.

jaehwan comes home every night, and they lovingly argue for a solid twenty minutes about what to have for dinner, or how wonsik should best accent a scene according to the script he's been given, or whether or not jaehwan's clients at the law office he's employed by are actually guilty or not. they both work on cooking, wonsik being better with prep, jaehwan best with determining flavour. they sit down at their dinner table and stare at one another lovingly and have good conversations about absolutely nothing and have this almost perfect domesticity. after dinner they work together on the dishes, and they go to bed, where phones and computers are forbidden. they fall asleep in one another’s arms, sometimes clothed, more often not.

they lead a happy life. a routine one, one that their few friends might call boring, but a happy one nonetheless.

still, the movement of something that cannot be seen lurks over both their heads, and wonsik wants so badly to find peace. occasionally he does, wrapped up in their routine, in the beauty of jaehwan’s eyes, in jaehwan's ever-warm embrace.

it's late one night, jaehwan reading a manhwa in bed and wonsik scribbling in a notebook, making notes on a composition, that he finally explains why he hasn't slept for the past few nights. jaehwan, a sceptic in the worst sense of the word, rolls his eyes. "you know there's no such thing as ghosts, wonsik-ah," he mumbles, turning his head to kiss the tip of wonsik's ear. "it's just because we haven't been in the house long. you aren't used to all its noises."

wonsik grunts a noncommittal reply, finishing what he's going to do for the night and shedding himself of his shirt. he casts the garment somewhere in the dark recesses of the room, turns to jaehwan, kisses him on his full lips. "you think so?" he asks between passes of their mouths, drinking in the warmth of jaehwan's breath as it mingles with his own exhales.

in the morning, when he goes to gather his clothes from the night before, the shirt he'd been wearing is covered in phantom blood.

jaehwan doesn't see it, but wonsik trembles and sobs in his arms just the same.

\---

out back, there's a shed, meant for a groundskeeper to hold all their tools. wonsik mainly takes care of their lawn himself, wilting with pleasure under the compliments jaehwan gives him while he's shirtless and trimming the hedges. they don't see the point in hiring someone to do something they can do themselves.

the shed is locked. the house did not come with a key for it. wonsik doesn't take much time to wonder why, and it mainly ends up forgotten, unless he's working on something and wishes he had some sort of thing, some particular clipper or instrument to fix the lawnmower, that he ends up going to the local home and garden store to pick up.

when he hears the dragging in midday, he's peering out the window, trying to think of the next logical part to a sweeping piece meant to introduce the audience to a villain. the saturated slipping of something he cannot see moves upstairs, and his heart goes stone-cold, unmoving in his chest for a full five seconds.

he goes outside, chainsmokes, shakes, doesn't go back in until he can stomach the thought of being alone again. it occurs to him, during this time, that he should just wait out here until jaehwan gets home, until he's no longer by himself.

not that he ever is, some sinister part of his mind reminds him. he's never truly by himself when something is there in the house with him, unseen, unnamed, only heard in passing.

he doesn't stay out on their back patio, but his work is distracted now, he looking up every so often to see that shed parked in the backyard, serving no purpose but there nonetheless.

his heart tugs to know what's inside. he doesn't find out. he doesn't think he wants to.

\---

the noises get worse, as time goes on. wonsik has stopped sleeping almost entirely. on the positive side, his work is done, three weeks before it's due. on the negative the friend he'd been composing for hates it entirely.

"this isn't a slasher," hongbin intones, sounding rather nasal over the tinny receiver of wonsik's phone. "the way you wrote the second to last piece makes it sound like someone's going to get ripped apart. it doesn't fit. did you even watch the reel i sent you?"

"i did," wonsik agrees, exhausted, scrubbing over his face with his free hand, palm-down. "i know i did. i just...can't remember it right now." he's flipping open the lid to his laptop to overlay the soundtrack to the film, see just how badly it doesn't match up. "listen, i'm sorry, it's just...there's been some weird shit going on--"

"trouble in paradise?" hongbin is all bite today, it seems. "listen, you're a brother to me. you really are. it's why i'm okay with telling you this stuff. but if you and jaehwan are fighting, it can't affect the quality of your work. i need this to fit together better. is there any way you can rework it?"

the worst part is that wonsik expects hongbin to be meaner about the whole thing. wonsik is already dreading it himself, the wash of self-doubt that's going to consume him for the three weeks to come. "i'm going to look at it right now. don't worry, i'm going to fix this."

"okay." hongbin pauses, and there's something uncomfortably sentimental in his voice. "really, though, are you and jaehwan okay?"

wonsik thinks back to the way jaehwan had looked at him this morning -- like he's something to be pitied rather than loved -- and shrugs. "we're fine. it's really the house."

"you're not used to it yet?" and now hongbin teases him. wonsik can hear his mischievous grin. "it's okay, wonsikkie, you'll get adjusted. it takes time. when sanghyuk and i got our new apartment there was a hooker living upstairs. she banged all night--"

"i have heard enough," wonsik interrupts, loud as he can when his voice is breaking, exhaustion seeping into the cracks it's made in his mind.

over his head, on the second floor, the dragging starts again, slippery and disgusting. wonsik swears it's made of entrails, but then wonders how he could possibly swear to something he's never actually seen. he groans. "i'll get it done," he tells hongbin, "don't worry. i have to go."

he hangs up before hongbin says goodbye, and draws up into his office chair, knees tucked beneath his chin, trying to disappear so that he can sleep, so that he doesn't have to deal with that sound anymore.

\---

"did you get to sleep?"

jaehwan is banging around the kitchen like he's angry at something. maybe he is. maybe wonsik is the thing he's angry with. "i didn't," admits wonsik, "but i did do some more work..."

jaehwan slams a cabinet door, and the sound is so loud to wonsik's tired ears that he nearly jumps as far as he does when the shuffling happens in the night. "why aren't you sleeping?" he all but demands, whirling so that he can face wonsik, hands planted on the counter as if he's trying to stop himself from launching across it in wonsik's direction.

wonsik swallows dryly, dragging a hand through his hair, self-conscious as he starts to tell the same story he's been telling every day for two weeks now. "the noises outside the bedroom...they happen all the time now..."

"oh, wonsik-ah," and here jaehwan laughs, chin dropping to his chest, voice becoming something completely unlike the tone wonsik had first fallen in love with. "there are no such things as ghosts."

wonsik looks away, out the window, at the shed -- anything but looking at jaehwan trying to convince him out of something he knows is real. "i know what i heard. and even if it isn't real to you, that doesn't make it not real to me."

"is this because you didn't want to move?" jaehwan's leaving the kitchen, now, the bright, open space that had been lending to him its light and beautifully illuminating his features disappearing behind him until he is sharp relief against a blurred-out background. he looks like what wonsik thinks the ghost might look like, if it looks like anything at all: black-eyed and horrifying, mouth twisted into some terrible grimace, hands outstretched and reaching for wonsik's throat--

he takes wonsik into his arms instead. wonsik shakes with it. he hadn't wanted to move; they had argued about it for weeks, jaehwan insisting that wonsik could make up movie music wherever he went, but not every law firm wants to hire someone who graduated in the solid middle of his class. "it's an opportunity," jaehwan had sneered, and wonsik knew the fear in him: that they couldn't keep asking their parents to buy them groceries whenever they were scared they couldn't make rent, that public assistance only got them so far, that jaehwan's career was what would keep them afloat if he could only get a foot in the door.

he doesn't fault jaehwan for wanting better for them. he does fault this house for making the transition miserable.

he wishes they could just go home but, more importantly, he wishes he could go to sleep.

\---

it's late one sunday night. jaehwan has turned in early, not even bothering to say goodnight. wonsik has his laptop in bed -- a previously prohibited habit -- while jaehwan snores softly beside him. wonsik's fingers creak and ache with every note he enters, every edit he makes, but he does not stop. after sending hongbin his most recent incarnation of the project with which he's been tasked it had been nothing but positive feedback. "where do you get this stuff from?" hongbin asks, and again, wonsik can hear the tell-tale grin even through the phone.

"oh, you know," wonsik replies, exhausted, "life."

truth be told, he's developed the shuffling into music, into art. he hasn't recorded the sound, although that isn't for lack of trying; it's a simple enough sound to recreate.

he thinks about dinner, about arguing over whether or not wonsik should go see a doctor about getting something to help him to sleep. it's been a full twenty-one days, and he's snatched little naps here and there, a half hour, an hour at a time before the sound kicks in and he's so scared of whatever it might be that he can't even begin to fathom sleeping.

the only thing keeping him from committing himself to some sort of institution is the fact that his work is due very, very soon, and while it's technically complete, judging by the number of compliments hongbin had delivered him, it doesn't feel...perfect. he knows he can do better. he knows he can make real the sound that has been torturing him for so long now.

outside the bedroom door, the shuffling begins, the wet noise that follows behind it all too telling. wonsik shudders, tries to ignore it, but tonight it's louder. more real. some crazed part of him thinks he should take note of this, but like a zombie wonsik sets aside his laptop, goes out to see what it is.

it's nothing. it's always nothing.

he gets back to bed, gets back to work. the shuffling grows louder outside the bedroom door. he tries again to ignore it, but the slippery sound of something dragging behind heavy footsteps can never escape his notice.

'come out here,' says a voice wonsik isn't entirely sure he actually hears.

something crawls along the inside of his skin, a presence previously unaccounted for. he sets his laptop at the edge of the bed. he does what he's told, desperately tugging at his own elbows, eyelids heavy. he swears he could fall asleep standing up, if only he'd close his eyes long enough.

there's nothing there outside the door. there never is.

when wonsik turns around to go back to bed, there's something standing there behind him. an apparition. six eyes. a gnarled face. cracked and bleeding skin. it grins at him, sinister, but playful. a boy, but tall, with wings like a bat protruding from his back.

it reaches out to curl its hands around wonsik's throat.

wonsik screams.

he tries, weakly, to kick the thing's legs out from beneath it. the creature stumbles to the ground, and wonsik takes his chance. he grabs his laptop from the end of the bed, beats the thing's many eyes in, crushes its skull. he feels the gushing beneath the surface of the circuits, the seemingly endless spray of blood. it covers him, his chest, his hands, his face.

when he's done, his computer is wrecked, covered in blood. the thing that has been torturing him lays crumpled at his feet.

he closes his eyes, fights the urge to scream again, his throat wrecked with the effort of doing it just once.

jaehwan has slept through all this, he thinks, hysterical.

when he opens his eyes, though, jaehwan's face stares up at him, smashed, his eyes still intact though the sockets are destroyed.

wonsik can scream no more. defeated entirely, he lays down beside jaehwan's body, no longer twitching with the effort of life, grey and red mixed together and spilling out of the cavity of jaehwan's ear.

morning crests an hour later, grey and ugly, peering through the bedroom window and casting its judgment on wonsik's sins. he still has not slept, instead cradling jaehwan's mangled face between his bloodstained fingers, whispering his apologies through his tears.

he knows what he must do.

he goes out to the shed in the back, breaks the padlock keeping in its secrets with a hammer and a wrench. inside are bones, endless bones, far more than a small building like this should be able to contain. wonsik, too tired to think, leaves the shed hanging open, does not question the bones. he goes back to the bedroom where jaehwan lay.

he drags jaehwan's lifeless corpse down the hallway, shuffling, heavy steps, the slick slide of jaehwan's blood punctuating each one. he carries jaehwan bridal-style across the threshold of the back door, crying silently with the effort of it.

when he reverently kisses what remains of jaehwan's forehead, and lays him among the bones that live inside that shed, wonsik hears the house behind him sigh, content.

he goes back inside. he's got work to do.

**Author's Note:**

> as ever come bother me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/takoyaken) and (gently) yell at me about what i'm not doing


End file.
